


The one in The Hague

by TheAwfulDodger



Category: Captain America (Movies), Marvel Cinematic Universe
Genre: 20 percent cooler, Dehumanization, Eating Disorder Not Otherwise Specified, Geeky, Hydra (Marvel), Mission Fic, Other, Rumlow has had enough of this shit, STRIKE Team Alpha, Vomiting, Westfahl is a brony, this might never be finished
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-03-13
Updated: 2017-03-13
Packaged: 2018-10-03 18:58:03
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,123
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/10255190
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/TheAwfulDodger/pseuds/TheAwfulDodger
Summary: Someone at Tech is a real comedian... The Asset is at least 20% cooler.





	

**Author's Note:**

> The text in italics is Russian! I didn't want to bother mobile readers with looking up translations etc, so I figured I'd do it this way.
> 
> This was written as the first chapter of a longer story, but I think it works as a standalone too. I have an idea of where I want the overall story to go, but don't think I will write it in its entirety. So here is the first chapter as a standalone, hope you enjoy!

“Oh for fuck’s sake!”

It was the perfect plan, well, as perfect as they come when travelling with a brainwashed super assassin. But every plan had it’s weakness, and this particular plan’s weakness was the impulsiveness of one of it’s teammembers.

“Did you feed him solids again, Westfahl?” Rumlow growled, as he pressed his leg from ankle to hip against the Asset’s, effectively pinning him against the side of the seat and the window, eventhough the Asset made no move to get up. The train swayed as it changed tracks, the Asset’s gaze fixed slightly to his right, out the window. A light frown had appeared on his face, and the front of the grey Legend of Zelda hoody had regurgitated protein smoothy over it, with chunks of what appeared to be bread in it. The Asset had made no attempt to lean forward when he spontaneously and unexpectedly puked when the train pulled out of the station just second ago, and Rumlow was thankful that he had unzipped the Soldier’s jacket as soon as they had settled into the seats. A trail of the stuff shone wetly on the Asset’s chin, but Rumlow was relieved that the rest of it had at least landed on the hoody, and not his jeans or shoes.

“What, I only gave him like, two bites of my PB ‘nJ, you know how he turns on the puppy eyes when he smells peanut butter!” Westfahl bitched, defending himself. He wouldn’t dare to talk to his commanding officer like this under normal circumstances, but the STRIKE team wasn’t a normal circumstance, and they were undercover as a group of tourists/friends, so some friendly bickering was expected.

 _”Soldat; eyes here!”_ Rumlow growled in Russian, as he pulled a handkerchief from his pocket. The Winter Soldier tore his impassionate gaze from the fields outside and focused on his Handler’s face. Rumlow wiped the mess from the Asset’s chin and pocketed the handkerchief again with a grimace. Thankfully, their traincompartment was empty save for them, but it was bound to start filling up at the next stop.

“See if Tech packed him a clean shirt.” Rumlow had studied previous mission reports in the Soldier’s file when he had been promoted to Primary Handler three years ago, and was aware of the troubles the Asset had had with trains, mostly in the early years. But a malfunction now would not only endanger the mission, but the lives of his men too. It was for this reason that he kept his leg pressed against the Asset’s, to detect any change in muscle tension in the Weapon and to remind him of his Handler’s presence. And besides, Westfahl knew better than to feed the Asset solids.

 _”Soldat; status report!”_ The small frown left the Asset’s face and any residual tension in the leg disappeared.

 _”Sir, fully functioning Sir. Mild nauseau Sir.”_ it replied, though the Asset’s eyes were still miles away.

 _”Soldat; as you were.”_ In the meantime, Westfahl had gone through the Soldier’s backpack, that was stowed in the bagage rack overhead. He had pulled out another hooded sweathsirt, this one navy blue and covered in colored dots. “I don’t get why were on this train anyway.” Westfahl moaned, as he zipped up the nondescript brown backpack and shoved it back into the rack between Rollins’ and his own. At that Rumlow and Rollins both rolled their eyes. Rollins gave his team leader a look as he continued to chew his gum, but Brock didn’t want to waste any time ripping the dumbest STRIKE team member a new one. They were compromised like this, with the Asset having puked himself like a fucking toddler and the next trainstation pulling ever closer with every badunk-badunk of the rails under them.

Fuck, this country was small, with the towns so close together that it took just 20 minutes to get from one stop to the next, and while they were alone now, people would certainly get on at the next stop. The whole trip, from the German border in the east to the seaside in the west would only take them two hours or so. Releasing the pressure from his leg that had kept the Soldier firmly in his seat, Rumlow rubbed between his eyes and ordered the Asset to take his jacket off. The Asset quickly and kinda awkwardly wormed out of the unzipped jacket, leaving it stuffed on the seat behind his back.

 _”This comes off next Soldat, I will assist.”_ Brock rumbled, and he guided the Soldier’s hands to the hem of the Zelda hoody. Raising his own hands up to the hoody’s collar, he helped keep the vomit-stained front out off the Soldier’s face as the assassin pulled the sweatshirt inside out and over his head. A snort sounded from the windowseat across from the Soldier. Rumlow’s eyes flicked to Rollins, who moved his wad of gum to his cheek and threw up his hands in mock defence.

“Oh c’mon Chief, don’t say *that* isn’t funny!” Rollins pointed at the baby blue longsleeve shirt that had appeared from under the Zelda hoody. Westfahl stifled a giggle but helpfully held out the new hoody. Rumlow shot a quick glance at the Asset’s shirt, where a group of hugging cartoon ponies was accompanied by the slogan ‘Friendship is Magic!’ in eyewatering shades of purple and pink. Rumlow growled under his breath as he balled up the soiled hoody, leaning over a stiffened Asset to stuff it in the garbage can under the window.

“Maybe Tech thought he needed to be about 20% cooler! And he does look adorkable in his hipster skinnies and brony shirt!” Westfahl wheezed, only just supressing the urge to ruffle the Asset's hair. Rollins coughed, which sounded suspiciously like “fucking nerd”, while Rumlow just snatched the new hoody from Westfahl’s hand before growling at him to sit down before he was knocked down. He thrust the hoody at the Asset and snapped an order to redress. The Asset made short work of the hoody, before shimmying back into his jacket, while Rollins let out a howl of laughter and Westfahl sounded like an eight year old girl who was getting tickled to death. The colored dots on the clean hoody weren’t dots, they were PACman’s eating pills, interspersed with the occasional ghost.

“Goddamnit, someone at Tech is a real fucking comedian!” Rumlow cursed. But they had dealt with this little problem in just time, because the train pulled into the next station. Rumlow kicked both Rollins and Westfahl in the shins to shut them up, and everyone schooled their expression, they were undercover, after all. Just friends, doing touristy things, on their way to The Hague by train.


End file.
